Cradle
by kangeiko
Summary: So the Vorlons are the good guys, hmmm? Since when? And didn't John ever hear the saying "Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned"?


CRADLE

DISCLAIMER: None of these characters belong to me. They are all the property of JMS and Warner Bros. Please don't sue, as you can tell, I need all my money for therapy.  
RATING: Eh. PG-13 for naughty language occasionally. Not that this will actually make any sense as I was three sheets to the wind at the time of writing, but hey.  
SUMMARY: So the Vorlons are the good guys, hmmm? Since when? And didn't John ever hear the saying "Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned"?  
THANKS TO: 1. Judith, for her invaluable help with Latinate verbs and nouns and other scary things; 2. Erykah, for humouring me. ;-)  
NOTE: I got inspired by the following lines G'Kar reads over an image of Delenn in "Revelations" - "And what rough beast, its hour come round at last/ Slouches towards Bethlehem, to be born?" - "The Second Coming", W.B. Yeats. Make of that what you will.

She looked up at him, a smile in her eyes. "I will not Fall," she said, confidence shining. "I will not Fall."

And he laughed.

"You have already Fallen." He told her with scorn in his voice, lashing out with his words as if he could cut her with the disappointment there. Disappointment, because she did not trust him. "They are weak, and they will betray you. This is simply an exercise in prophecy, Anna. Sic transit gloria desperationis. Do not place your trust in them."

She shook her head, disbelieving. Her eyes were open, wider than anyone could bear, to watch him smile at her pityingly. Still, she did not believe him. She had faith. "No. They will not fail me. I will not Fall."

Three days later, she was suspended in free-fall - limbo - nothingness - betrayal. Three days later, she was falling and falling, as though she could not stop. He had been right. They were weak, all of them. They did not understand. She had had faith in her Other, faith that he would not betray her. Faith that he would leave his lover and return to her side because she had been First - and was she not still? First to have his love, if not his body. First to have his spirit, if not his soul. She had always believed that this would last a thousand eternities, because what they had was special. Eternal.

Still, she Fell.

She had had faith in him, but had found none in him for her. He did not trust her anymore, if he ever had.

Despero, her mind whispered, and she tried to block out the treacherous thought. He had no hope left for your soul. That was why he had Fallen.

The image of angels, their hands held up in supplication, had clouded his thoughts. His own private snake coiled about his soul, offering him the apple. Jump, it said. Jump now! He had listened, and he had Fallen.

As she had.

There must be an end, her rational mind said - or, what was left of it. She had been in a presence one could not describe, could not equal, could not bear, and her mind had fled from it in terror. Her soul had not borne the ecstasy of being in that presence, and had been burned to the core. Still, she had stood her ground, in body if not in spirit. She had survived, if not wholly intact, then intact enough. This limited shell would serve her well enough for her task. There must be an end to all this uncertainty. Somehow, they would have their answers - answers to a multitude of questions they had not thought to ask. But first --

Yes, first, she had to regain his faith. She had to regain his spirit, though she had never possessed his soul. She was sure that it was possible, because was not He merciful? He would not have granted her permission to try if it was a fool's errand. She was sure.

Wasn't she?

She had to try. And what better form - what better soul - for such a task than this wide-eyed, flame-haired memory?

Images of angels had deceived the Other, lulled him in his sleep, until the snake offered him the apple with a smile. He bit willingly into the fruit, careless of the juices that ran down his chin and stained him. Jump. Jump now! And he had jumped - Fallen, dragging her faith down with him.

Did he really think that there would be no price to pay?

I trusted you! Someone screamed, far away. It could not have been her, because there was no 'her' left anymore. Fallen, there was not an entity left, just the memory of one. I trusted you, I had faith in you, and you betrayed me for that whore!

Was that not a betrayal of sorts, too? To choose earthly pleasures over his duty, over what they had shared? Ah, but he had called it love, and had not cared for his past any longer. He'd mourned it for far too long, and had at last had to give up the hope that she was still out there.

Despero, her mind insisted. Burn!

And he would. But no - not yet. Not yet, because he was still Falling. He would be brought back, having Fallen, to drag them all down with him. Had he chosen correctly, a few short years of pain would have ensued, for a millennium of advancement and purity. Had he chosen correctly, he would have seen the necessity of the choice.

Still, he clung to his image of angels and life, to his highborn ideals of love and sacrifice, as a frightened child might cling to its mother. Illusions, all illusions, taking away his hope and his faith and replacing them with child's playthings.

How could he hope to understand? She, herself, had not understood it while she had been mortal and bound to her now-forgotten form. She, herself, had perhaps doubted then, and had wondered at an eternity of millennia of stories and images and lies fed directly into her limited mind. Knowing what she knew now, was it any wonder that he had chosen incorrectly? Sin leads to sin, and despair was his undoing.

Oh, Johnny. I would have come back to you, even if it had taken me a thousand years. Why did you doubt me? His doubt and his fear had made him Fall, and now they would all pay for that. Now, there would be a battle and the slate would be wiped clean. They would be abandoned once more - left alone, on a whole new level. Children, playing in their parents' empty rooms, wondering what the trinkets they found were for. They did not even fear, because it did not occur to them that they were in danger. They just curled inquisitive fingers around toy angels, their hands open, their eyes closed, and found them amusing and worthy of attention.

Despero, Johnny, isn't that the worst sin of all? I would have come back to you. I had faith in you, despite it all. And hope - oh, I hoped you would choose correctly, hoped despite all the odds because He is merciful, is he not? He or She or They or It, whatever you call Him, whatever you describe Him in your prayers - do you even have prayers anymore? - is merciful, has to be merciful, because if He is not, then it is all for nothing. Hot tears were sliding down her face as her hair caught fire, burning to a crisp. Her skin was blistering and she squeezed her eyes shut to protect them for just a little while, to be able to see for just a second longer than she would otherwise. Justin was screaming out his fury behind her, the high-pitched wail of those enveloped in a slow licking fire, but she did not notice.

She did not notice, because he held her attention once again, him and his falling Star. The dome above her shattered, sending icy fragments down to slice through skin and bone and fire, and she was screaming then. He had long since gone, of course, Falling as the White Star fell out of the sky. Oh, John, you should have paid attention. You should not have listened to the poison in the snake's words. Never fall, John. Never agree to taste the forbidden fruit. Never lose hope.

The fragments had sliced into her, cutting off limbs and patches of forgotten flesh, leaving them strewn on the floor. She looked down at herself, at the head staring empty up at her, the shard of plexiglass that had cleaved it buried in the rubble underneath. She was dead then, she knew, but hadn't she been dead before? Her eyes - if, indeed, you could call them that anymore - were still closed against the burning fire that lapped around her, consuming her hair as if it was a hungry child suckling its food. Strange that she kept her eyes closed because she was dead already, but she needed this small vanity now. She needed to protect what was left of her eyes to rush to the balcony and look down to see him Fall, ever faster. Oh, Johnny.

And Justin's words came back to her, then. "They are weak, and will betray you." She had not believed him. Ah, she had been conceited in her faith! Conceited in believing that she'd know more than His servant.

"They will betray you."

"He will betray you."

"You will Fall."

And she had laughed, and said with smiling certainty, "I will not Fall. I will not. I trust, and I hope, and I will not Fall."

And now, when trust was gone, and when faith was gone, she was falling too. Anna stepped away from the rubble that had been her corporeal shell and regarded what was left of her form thoughtfully. She was burning.

Even here, even in this form, she was burning.

The blistering that she had felt on her corporeal form was nothing to the fire that now melted her skin and bubbled away the top layer of muscle. Her hair was burning all over again, taking longer to disintegrate because it, too, was made of fire, and it fought. Still, it burned, and whatever was left of her was melting away with it.

There was no choice now, really. She turned, and with a torn scream, Fell.

Below, her love was waiting.

She did not recall when she hit the bottom. Faintly surprised that she had hit a bottom, although she supposed that there must eventually be one to everything. There was a top, wasn't there?

Perhaps it was a blessing that she did not remember. It must have hurt, after all, and she had hurt enough for a thousand lifetimes. Fallen, abandoned by her love, she did not care to remember any more hurt. She did not trust anymore, our twice-dead Anna; she did not have any faith left. Still, Fallen into nothingness, forgotten, she fought for her life - she fought to not die this third time. She could see him, just a few meters from her, his corporeal form slowly exhaling its last breath. She wondered faintly if the Fall had been slowed to let her see him breathe his last, but dismissed such thoughts as inconsequential.

It didn't matter. He was here, and she would not die this third time lying next to him. He may have sinned by losing hope in her, but she would not make that same mistake. Control is a matter of perspective, and such battles had taught her a lot about perspective.

" Sic transit gloria desperationis." She almost laughed at the absurdity of it. Justin had been a master at twisting the truth. Thus passes the glory of despair, indeed. No, she would not lose hope. He would return to this place, if not to her, one day. He would. How else could he find out the truth?

Anna smiled and reached out a clawed hand to brush back a strand of her dead husband's hair. The blast had singed away everything but pure essence, taking with it skin and fat and grimy tissue, until only rivulets of muscle remained between gleaming ivory bones to propel her. Ah, but Morden had survived, and so would she. So had he, of course, but that had been a given.

She pressed her hand against the cooling cheek, carefully keeping the charred and broken pieces of bone that were her fingers from piercing his skin. "Soon," she whispered into his deaf ear. "Soon, I will be back with you, Johnny. . . . . I wonder if you'll recognise me?"

Her eyes glimmered, shifted, changed, until they took on the brilliance of Sheridan's intense stare. The universe was fluid, after all, and everyone was made of starstuff. Souls could be reborn. . . . . . could they not? Raw baby lips puckered into a pout as they placed a chaste kiss on the bruised forehead.

This time, s/he would make sure that Johnny did not make the same mistake again. This time. . . .

"Congratulations John - Delenn. It's a boy!"

The squirming infant was thrust eagerly against her and she closed tired arms around it automatically, keeping the head supported against her breast. Delenn peered down at the wriggling mass she held cocooned in her arms and waited expectantly for the flash of realisation that this was her child to come. She was not altogether surprised when it did not. She had not felt that 'magic moment' of love or happiness during the ten months of her pregnancy, and was only mildly disappointed when it did not arrive now. Instead, the baby yawned, as if dismissing her, and promptly opened bright blue eyes to search for its father.

Delenn surrendered the baby to John's eager care, falling back on the pillows with a sigh. That was John there, in those bright eyes, through and through. No question that the child would have his eyes once they settled on a colour - they even had the same lively intelligence dancing there when they opened that first time. Was it just her tired imagination, then, that had made her detect a hint of malice in their blue depths?

No, she decided after a moment as the baby was handed back to her. This was ludicrous. She was just tired, that was all. It was only a baby. Her baby. Her David.

The child took one look at her and began to shriek, hands clenching into fists as its wails grew ever more piercing.

If it is mine, why does it have such fair hair?

Even the mouth was the baby's own.

Delenn's grip tightened.

End "Cradle"


End file.
